Healing Hands
by Teobi
Summary: TAG2015. Sequel to my fic, 'Fixing a Hole'. Healing Hands means closure for Scott, working through the anger resulting from his confrontation with Professor Harold. *Spoilers for Tunnels of Time*. You'll need to read Fixing a Hole before tackling this one otherwise you'll be confused. And thanks to Pyre for shoving me when I needed it. :)


Hello! So, as you know from the summary, this is a sequel to Fixing a Hole. Because some of you wanted closure for our Scotty and his busted hand and that hole he made in the wall. Darkflame's Pyre, you got the creative juices flowing with your raw and passionate review to FaH, and without your input this sequel would never have happened, and I would not have spent the entire day thoroughly enjoying the process of writing it. Thank you so much for those facebook messages of encouragement. Hope you like the end result. (You too, Ell Aitcherooney!)

You will need to read Fixing a Hole to understand what's going on in this fic. But if you have, then full steam ahead me hearties!

Fixing a Hole

Part II

Healing Hands

 _Sickbay_

A full scan of Scott's right hand revealed a hairline metacarpal fracture on the knuckle of his middle finger. Upon seeing the damage with his own eyes, the Field Commander of International Rescue visibly slumped in his chair. Across the room, Brains and MAX watched in silence as the matriarch of the Tracy family and Kayo Kyrano mused over the rotating 3D x-ray floating above the bio-scanner.

"Nice work, young man," said Grandma, sternly. "You'll be out of action for at least a week, if not two."

" _Two_?" Scott yelped miserably.

Brains spoke up, sounding confident yet nervous, as only he could. "It puh-probably won't be that long," he stuttered. "That new h-healing gel I've buh-been working on is ready to be tested."

"Well, this is as good a time to test it as any," said Grandma, side- eyeing the floating image of Scott's hand as though it were about to reach out and pull her hair. "Seeing as we've got ourselves a guinea pig right here."

Already ashen from the pain, Scott now turned even whiter. "Grandma, there's _no way_ I can be out of action, even for _one_ week. International Rescue needs me. I'm in charge, remember?"

The elderly lady was having none of his nonsense. "You should have thought of that before you knocked seven bells out of your bedroom wall. Now. Painkillers?"

"Yes please," said Scott, meekly.

Grandma produced a hypodermic needle from behind her back. "Wanna bite on a bullet?" she drawled, like some kind of ancient Calamity Jane.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," groaned Scott. "If you're gonna inject me, just do it and get it over with."

Grandma winked at Kayo, who just stared in mute surprise. "Scott never did like needles," she chuckled, appearing to take rather too much delight in the fate which had befallen her eldest grandson, and loving the opportunity to play Florence Nightingale to a wounded soldier.

Scott ground his teeth so hard that the sound reverberated throughout the whole of Sickbay. Everybody winced, even MAX. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and appeared to wobble slightly as Grandma inserted the needle into the swollen knuckle at the base of his middle finger and gently depressed the plunger. "Don't faint," she said, her gaze fixed on Scott's chalk-white face. "Not when we've come this far."

The liquid painkiller rapidly went to work. Despite the wave of nausea rising in his throat, Scott soon felt a pleasant tingling sensation all the way up his forearm. To his utter relief his whole hand rapidly went numb, the blinding, white-hot pain reduced to a slow painless throbbing deep in the middle of his palm.

He also began to feel warm all over. Heat suffused him from the point of contact outwards like a blossoming flower, a spreading stain. He felt warm, and relaxed, and... squidgy. _Squidgy_? What kind of word was that? But squidgy seemed to fit. Squidgy and boneless like a big ball of cookie dough before Grandma had the chance to ruin it.

Damn- he felt _good._

"How's that?" the old lady said with a smile.

"Uhh," sighed Scott, the tightness evaporating from his voice. "Bliss."

"Don't get _too_ high. We don't want to be scraping you down from the ceiling."

Scott smiled at his grandmother through heavy, glazed eyes. "Just open a window and let me float right out," he drawled.

"Just don't float away before we've finished fixing you up," Grandma said in a droll tone while Kayo set about cleaning the superficial scrapes across Scott's knuckles and splinting his two middle fingers together.

Relaxed at last, the Field Commander of International Rescue began to observe the proceedings with rather unfocused eyes. As much as he was enjoying being administered to, he would have appreciated the ministrations more if only he could _feel_ his fingers being gently wiped and softly manipulated. As for the rest of his arm- it was a strange, phantom limb belonging to someone else. His medicated mind wandered; he tipped his head back and studied Kayo's ponytail, fancying that he could count every single glossy strand of hair that fell down to the middle of her back. He couldn't help but stare at the loose tendrils clustered at the nape of her neck. _Stop looking at her_ , he told himself. _She'll think you're a pervert._ This only made him want to laugh, and he bit his lips to stop from snorting out loud.

"What's so funny?" Kayo asked, looking up.

"Mmph. Nothing," he grinned. "Just... y'know."

Kayo peered at him suspiciously. "Enlighten me, O Wise One."

Trying to salvage a situation that he wasn't even sure existed, Scott found himself mumbling incoherently. "I broke the finger I flip Virgil off with," he blurted.

Kayo sighed deeply and shook her head with all the strained patience of an older sister, even though she was closer in age to Gordon than Scott.

"Lovely," she muttered. "Perhaps it was karma, hmm?"

"Oh, but wait!" Scott held up his uninjured left hand, middle finger extended. "Got another one right here." He stared proudly around the room, but for some reason, no one seemed to find it as amusing as he did. Especially Grandma, who glared at him as if he was in no way related to her.

"Are you shuh-sure you didn't give him tuh-too much puh-painkiller?" asked Brains, worriedly.

"Maybe I didn't give him enough," she growled, with a completely straight face.

Kayo finished splinting Scott's fingers, ignoring all of his lame attempts to joke her out of her efficient, professional demeanour. She coated a sterile cotton pad with the healing gel Brains had invented, placed it gently across Scott's knuckles and fixed it in place by wrapping a bandage firmly but gently around his entire hand, leaving just his thumb and index finger exposed so that he could do simple tasks. Finally she looped a small sling around his neck to keep the injury elevated while it repaired itself. Then she sat back with her slender arms folded, fixing Scott with a narrowed and critical eye.

"This is rather a set back for International Rescue, wouldn't you say?" she remarked sternly. "What were you thinking? I mean, really? How on earth is punching inanimate objects going to help?"

"Yes ma'am, I mean no ma'am." Scott realised he was being goofy and annoying but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Brains-" said Kayo, looking at the boffin helplessly.

"W-we can give him a mild tuh-tranquilizer," said Brains, stroking his chin. "He will sleep until the w-worst of the pain is over and the injection has worn off."

"No," said Grandma, suddenly. "Leave him be- he's been through enough. Kayo, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think he needs any more lectures at this moment."

Kayo realised she had just been chastened by the real head of the Tracy family.

"Yes, Mrs. Tracy," she said, meekly.

"Scott," said Grandma, coming over to stand in front of her eldest grandson. "I think we all know why you did what you did. But punching walls never solved anything. There's a fully equipped gym downstairs, I don't know why you didn't take out your frustrations on a punch bag. But that's by the by." She put her surprisingly strong hands on Scott's shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. He found he could neither blink nor look away. All of the hysteria that had been rising up inside him was instantly quelled by the presence of his grandmother- his father's mother, the woman who had been through far more loss than he had, and had managed to come out the other side, knuckles intact and for the most part unscathed.

His grandmother continued in her kindly tone. "Like I just told Kayo- you don't need any lectures- you're a big boy and you can handle yourself. Now, I'd tell you to get some sleep as I think it's the best thing for you right now, but I know you're not going to do that. So why don't you go and have a head-to-head with Gordon first, and Virgil later- seeing as your ever patient brother is busy repairing that hole you made and doesn't need you getting in the way until he's finished."

Scott swayed slightly, a lopsided grin on his face. Kayo shook her head in the background as she put away medical equipment and switched off the scanner, causing the rotating x-ray of Scott's hand to disappear into thin air.

"Why am I waiting for you to say 'capiche'?" he uttered.

Grandma gave him a friendly swat on the shoulder. "Go on, get," she said, in her best 'vamoose, varmint' voice.

* * *

 _The Beach_

Gordon was uncomfortable. Not because sand had worked its way into his shorts, but because Scott had busted his hand up in anger over what had happened at the tomb of the Laughing King. And yet, Gordon had come away from the experience with some pretty _good_ memories- memories of soft pink lips and a pretty face, and a kiss that almost was. He'd had no idea that Professor Harold had been practising his little speech- his _eulogy_ for Lady Penelope, whilst he, Penny and Parker had been scrabbling through the catacombs like Lara Croft and her two friends, more scared, more excited, more... _titillated_ by danger than any of them had cared to admit.

In some ways, Gordon had never felt more alive as the trio ducked and ran from whirling spears, dark, deadly underground pools and rumbling, tumbling slabs of concrete. But at the very same time that they were racing through the tunnels, Scott was discovering that the professor had never intended to send help- that he had been fully prepared to let them perish so that his precious treasures would be preserved. Knowing this had taken some of the fun out of what Gordon had begun to see as _'an awfully big adventure'_ , and had brought it home to him, once again, the weight of responsibility that pressed down on Scott's shoulders.

Gordon leaned on his surfboard and stared glumly at Scott. The older man's broken hand was impossible to ignore- he could see nothing but splinted, swollen fingers and the sling around Scott's neck and Scott's hand pressed against his sternum, like a man taking the pledge.

"Does it hurt?" Gordon asked, then immediately scrunched up his face and grabbed a hank of his hair. "I cant believe I just said that. Of course it fricken hurts."

"Actually right now, it doesn't. I'm full of painkillers. Good ones, too." Scott snorted a rapid burst of air out of his nose. "Now I know what Brains gets up to in his lab at night. Hmmm- maybe I should have a word."

Gordon let go of his hair, which remained sticking up, full of sea salt. "I've been riding the waves," he said, unnecessarily. "But something tells me we need to clear the air."

Scott shrugged. "Grandma kind of suggested we should talk, but I'm not sure we haven't already had The Talk a million times over, whether we actually say the words aloud or not." He began to walk along the beach ahead of Gordon, who picked up his surfboard and hurried after him.

"Yeah, The Talk. So many talks."

Scott looked down at his bandaged hand. His fingernails were more blue than pink, although he thought the swelling had subsided greatly in the last couple of hours. The muzziness of the painkillers had worn off as well, but fortunately not the painkilling effects. At least his thumb and forefinger were free. He used them to pick at his shirt button as the two of them walked along, the sun burning the back of his neck and bringing out the freckles on Gordon's shoulders.

"I was wrong to try and punch Professor Harold," he began, after collecting his thoughts. "As much as his smarmy face was asking for it, I was wrong. Word would have gotten out that International Rescue hits people and it would have caused irreparable damage to our organization. We would most likely have been sued by that skunk, and who knows who else would have crawled out of the woodwork. Chancers, opportunists. Anyone whose injuries worsened while they either waited for us or during the operation itself. Sure, there have been one or two of those already, but we've always had a clean record. Spotless, in fact. Until now. Until one lousy moment of recklessness on my part. Me- the guy who's meant to be in charge." Scott kicked a stone into the air. "God only knows what Dad would say if he were here. I think he'd have ripped me a new one."

"Maybe," mused Gordon. "But haven't there been times when he'd have ripped us all a new one? All of us have our reckless moments, Scott. Like, I'm pretty sure he'd rip me a new one if he found out about me and Penny."

Scott laughed goodnaturedly. "You two haven't even been on a date," he smirked. "You're hardly involved in the Romance of the Century."

"Hey! Don't burst my very beautiful, very shiny, very sparkly little bubble. It's all I have. Well, that and my irrepressible humor and my stunning good looks."

"And your modesty, little fish boy." Scott winked at his brother. "You understand me though, don't you? Dating Lady Penelope is one thing- knocking someone unconscious, while in uniform, no less, in entirely a different matter. We may not be a military organization but we command just as much respect. We've worked hard over the years to build our reputation. And yet- with everything we've been through, I have never wanted to slam my fist into someone's face the way I wanted to with Professor Harold. To think he was just gonna let you all..."

"Scott," said Gordon quickly, anxious to dispel the rising tension in his eldest brother's voice. "Please- it's done. It was just one of those things that happens to everyone. If the real truth had come out then people would have understood."

Scott shook his head. "The only other witness was Virgil. They'd think he was lying to cover my ass, both of us in it together. All the professor would have to do is appear on television with his black eyes in full view and give one of his sob stories. We'd have been ruined, Gordon. All of us stripped of our uniforms, not just me. Who wants to be rescued by someone who might hit them?"

"I'm sure it wouldn't have been that bad."

"The important thing is that we never find out. We never even put ourselves in that position to begin with. Besides, what kind of example am I setting for Alan if I go around smacking people in the face? Next thing you know, Alan will be hitting people too."

"No he won't," laughed Gordon. "Alan's a big mouth on legs but he'd never hit anyone."

Scott shook his head. "I'd like to be someone who doesn't hit people too. Grandma said I should use the gym more often. Maybe she's right. I spend too much time thinking, planning, trying to second guess situations and strategies. Worrying about things that haven't happened yet. It's not how Dad would do things."

"Dude. Don't keep comparing yourself to Dad. He had... _has_ a hot head too. You're like him in so many ways, Scott. Sometimes it's uncanny, I... well, every so often I'll catch a glimpse of someone sitting at Dad's desk and my heart skips a beat because I think he's come back, until I realise it's you. You sit like him and everything."

Scott laughed. "Stupid big brother trying the Big Chair out for size," he remarked, dryly.

"That's not how we see it," said Gordon. "We see it as you taking up your rightful position as Head of International Rescue."

Scott regarded his ocean-loving brother closely. "Really?"

"Sure. You're not always dorky Scott, y'know. Sometimes you're awesome Scott- someone to look up to and be proud of. You're a natural leader and you should accept that and be comfortable with it and not worry about what Dad might or might not have done. You're doing okay on your own. I mean, you've never given me an order I wasn't happy to follow. And truth be told, a part of me is kinda touched by how angry you got at the prof- even if it _was_ wrong," he added hastily.

"Oh, I was fuming," Scott nodded. "Talk about the red mist- this one was a purple mist."

"Yipes," said Gordon, flinching away from his brother in jest before glancing out at the waves, surfboard hugged tightly under his arm. "You know, Scott, it's pretty cool what we do. We get to live here on this beautiful island without anyone else to tell us what to do or how to live. We get to operate the most technically advanced air and sea craft that ever existed, and use it not to wage war, but to save lives. Look at John, living in space as though it were his second home. We are legit the luckiest guys- and gals, in the world. Why would we want to mess that up? What is worth getting so angry over? Death is part of life, my friend. And you know, if my number had come up that day, I would have died in the arms of the sweetest, most beautiful woman. I would have died happy, Scott. Never forget that."

Scott threw a bemused smirk at his grinning brother. "Something tells me you're not going to _let_ me forget that."

Gordon's sunny grin got even wider. "You're damn right I'm not!"

Scott bent down, grabbed a handful of sand with his good hand and rubbed it thoroughly into Gordon's hair. "You're getting way too big for your fins, you know that? Wayyyy too big!"

Gordon laughed and shot away, sand cascading onto his shoulders. "Last one in the sea's a rotten egg!" he cried.

Scott watched his carefree brother run down the shore and launch himself into the water on top of his gleaming surfboard. Gordon's glistening arms wheeled over and over as he swam out towards the breakers, shouting against the ocean breezes, the most alive creature Scott had ever known. As Gordon grew smaller in the distance, Scott turned and made his way back up the beach to the welcome shade of the trees. And while he walked, he got to thinking.

If Professor Harold thought a life like Gordon Tracy's was finite compared to the historical value of a piece of stone or faded jewelry, then he was very much mistaken, very badly wrong. Gordon Tracy's essence burned brighter than the brightest star, and would continue to burn long after those wretched bits of stone were ground to dust.

And _that_ put everything into perspective.

* * *

 _The House_

After returning to the house and grabbing an energy drink from the kitchen, Scott felt a surge of sleepiness coming on. Making his way to his room, he fumbled with the can's ring pull, eventually wedging the can into the crook of his incapacitated elbow and wrenching back the circle of aluminium with his good hand, spraying lemon scented fizz everywhere, including in his eye. Muttering oaths under his breath, Scott shook his dripping fingers and took a swig of the ice cold liquid, relishing the way it drenched the inside of his mouth, saturated his tongue and fizzed between his teeth. He hadn't realized he'd been that thirsty, that dehydrated. The day's events were finally catching up with him, not to mention the heavy dose of painkiller that Grandma had plunged into his veins, making him loopy de loop one minute, and drop dead exhausted the next. He couldn't wait to get into bed, pull the covers up over his head, and sleep the way that only Scott Tracy could sleep, in bursts of two to three hours during which you couldn't wake him if you tried.

Drinking deeply from his can of drink, Scott rounded the last corner and promptly halted in his tracks, the can still resting against his bottom lip. All thoughts of sleep vanished as he discovered a line of tape across his doorway with 'Do Not Enter' written on it in black ink, and Alan sitting in a chair beside the door, playing with a hand held computer game.

"What the hell's this?"

Alan didn't even look up. "No go, bro," he said, before fist pumping the air and hissing, "Yes! Take that, nerdface!"

"Whaddya mean, no go? I'm tired, I need sleep. In case you hadn't noticed, I broke my hand."

"Yeah, yeah. Kayo told me. You freaked out and punched the wall. Bad move."

Scott rolled his eyes and winced at the resulting headache. "Move, squirt," he commanded, launching himself forward. "That's my room and I'm going in."

Alan stuck his skinny leg almost horizontally across the doorway. "I said, 'No Go!'"

Scott held the can over Alan's head. "Let me through or I'll pour this all over your precious game."

Alan put his hands protectively over his game and began whining. "I _can't_ let you through. Virgil's in there and he instructed me to keep you out at all costs. Why don't you go and sleep in John's room? No one ever goes in there, it's like, exactly how it was the day we moved in. Just think how nice and cosy that new bed will be. C'mon Scott, give me a break. I only got this game yesterday and I'm already on level 13."

"I don't care." Scott let a drip of his drink fall onto Alan's head, then another. "Let me in, or the game gets it."

"Virgillll!" cried Alan. "This isn't worth the payment! He's gonna break my game!"

Virgil cracked the door open and peered out. There was an impatient look on his handsome face and a smudge of white paint on the end of his nose. "Beat it, Scott," he said, bluntly. "I'm not done yet."

"Wha- wait a minute. You _paid_ Alan to sit there and keep me out of _my own room_?!"

"I didn't pay him, I said I would eat his dinner for the next five days if he kept you from entering before the work was complete."

Scott's mouth fell open. "What could be _that_ important?" he said with an incredulous whistle. "What are you doing in there, anyway? It wasn't _that_ big a hole. I would have just pulled the wardrobe in front of it."

"And that's why you will always be trash," Virgil retorted, sighing dramatically. "Look, Scott. If a job's worth doing it's worth doing right. That's the Tracy motto, remember?"

"Virgil, how long does it take to fix one measly hole?" Scott could hear himself getting desperate.

"I don't know. How long does it take to fix one measly hole?"

"What? Virgil, that wasn't a joke!"

"Oh, well, you shouldn't have used your trying-to-make-a-joke voice."

"I _wasn't_! Man alive, Virgil, you're a piece of work, you know that? A piece of work!"

"YES!" shouted Alan suddenly, almost tipping his chair over. "I defeated the three headed Gorgon! Level 14, here I come!"

Scott slumped against the wall, clutching the elbow of his injured arm. "Alan, go do your homework or something, and just let me into my room. All I want to do is sleep. Look- _I'm hurt_. Doesn't _anyone care_?"

"We care, Scott," laughed Virgil. "Really, we do. And that's why I don't want you to come in until I'm done. You can sleep in my room if you want. I promise there's nothing lurking in the bed. No booby traps, no half eaten sandwiches, I even put fresh sheets on."

"When?" asked Scott, eyeing Virgil suspiciously.

"Errr... Thursday."

"What, last Thursday or Thursday two weeks ago?"

"Scott, the bed's clean. Now please- the longer we stand here arguing, the longer it'll be before you can come in. Please? Have a heart, big brother."

Scott heaved the most dramatic sigh any of them had ever heard, including Scott himself. "Oh, all right! For Pete's sake! I'll go and sleep in John's room. Okay? Are we happy now? Jeez, you'd think I had no authority around here whatsoever!"

He stomped off down the hallway, muttering under his breath, clutching his arm as if it were his only friend.

Alan glanced at Virgil. The front of his blond hair was sticky with energy drink.

"I hope this is gonna be worth it," he said, fixing Virgil with a grim stare.

"Oh, I think it will be," said Virgil, enigmatically, before closing the door on Alan with a soft click.

* * *

 _The Reveal_

Scott was asleep before his dark head even hit the pillow. He slept soundly for three unbroken hours under an indigo ceiling covered in stars- John's favourite environment, even when he was home. There was a soothing sense of John actually _being there_ in the way the little constellations were precisely mapped out, even though he was miles and miles above them in the stratosphere. No one loved the stars more than the ethereal spaceman of the family. No one knew the rhythmic pulse of the universe the way John Tracy did. Their slender, red haired brother was a mystery even to Scott sometimes, a strange, wistful being created in some distant nebula, sent to earth in human form through the union of Jefferson and Lucille Tracy to complete some ancient mission begun at the dawn of time.

Such strange, but vivid imagery disappeared from Scott's mind altogether as he slept on, his eyes unmoving in total, dreamless slumber.

At last he was awoken by a gentle tapping on the door. Dragging himself into wakefulness, he hugged his arm to his chest and yawned widely, then reached for his can of drink in order to wet his parched lips.

The quiet knocking sounded again.

"You can come in only if you're female and beautiful," he said, then broke into an ugly coughing fit as his dry throat scratched under the onslaught of his voice.

The door cracked open and Virgil's raven head appeared. "Will I do?"

Scott fell back against the pillows. "First you order me to leave, then you follow me here. What is it now, Virgil?"

Virgil laughed his deep, hearty laugh. "Your room's ready, you ungrateful swine. But so is dinner. Which one do you want to hit first?"

Scott threw back the sheets and swung his legs out onto the floor. He hadn't even bothered to take his clothes off before he fell into bed and he didn't want to bother with the rigmarole of pulling on shoes with one hand so he left them in John's room and followed Virgil back along the hallway in his bare feet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the knuckles of his good hand and yawning like a grizzly bear who had just woken up from six month's hibernation.

"Damn," he grunted. "My hand is freaking _killing_ me."

"Oh yeah, here," said Virgil, opening his hand to reveal two white tablets. "I forgot- Grandma told me to give you these. Guess she knew, huh."

"Great," said Scott, letting Virgil drop the medication into his palm. "No needles this time."

Swallowing the two painkillers with the very last dregs of his drink, Scott ambled along beside Virgil until they reached the door to his room.

"Apres vous," said Virgil. "That's French for get your ass in there."

Shaking his head amiably, Scott ventured into his room, wondering what awaited him there. He could smell paint- fresh paint, and lots of it. He was surprised when he found other people there- or rather, one person, Gordon, and a floating hologram emanating from Gordon's wrist comm. Lady Penelope. He ventured in still further, putting his empty can onto a bookshelf just inside the door. He looked at his uninvited guests, his blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"What exactly is going on now- or dare I ask?" he muttered.

"Oh, what a charming welcome," said Lady Penelope, dryly.

"That's why you're still single, Scotty," said Gordon with a cackle.

Scott ignored his Hawaiian-shirted brother and smiled an apology at Lady Penelope. "I'm sorry, Lady P. Don't mind me. My nerves are a little frayed, what with my broken hand and Virgil keeping me out of _my own room_ all afternoon."

"Ah, yes," the blonde answered, sweetly. "Well, there is a reason for that, Scott. And if you would just turn around and look over there, you would see what that reason is."

Scott turned slowly, with one eye still on Penny. His mouth remained open ready to fire another quick witted retort at the very next person who spoke. The new dose of painkiller hadn't yet kicked in and his hand felt as if it were being repeatedly pounded with a sledgehammer. He was feeling cranky, hot and irritable. But when he saw the painting that was hanging there on the wall, right over the spot where he had punched the hole, all of the crankiness drained from him like dirty bathwater down the drain.

"Oh my God," he uttered. "Oh my... Virgil!"

Virgil had done it. He had painted a picture of Thunderbird One soaring through the sky, scarlet nose cone pointing at the dazzling, mauve tinted clouds. Sunlight glimmered on her hull- _it actually glimmers,_ thought Scott, incredulously, _like real sunlight._

"Dammit, Virgil! Why didn't you tell me? I'd have been... I wouldn't have minded, I'd have gladly gone and slept in a hammock on the beach. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Um... didn't want to spoil the surprise?" replied Virgil, cocking one beautifully shaped eyebrow.

"But you let me get all uptight and pissed with Alan. You should have just said something!"

"More fun this way," said Virgil with a sly shrug. "So... d'you like it?"

Scott couldn't tear his eyes away. Everywhere he looked, there was detail upon detail upon detail. He walked right up to the painting so that he could smell it as well as see it, taste it almost- the scent of paint in the back of his throat. Clouds bunched around his 'bird like crunchy meringue topping on a pie. Her powerful thrusters sent plumes of shimmering flames streaking away into the ether. He could even see himself- just a dab of blue inside her cockpit, but absolutely unmistakeable. The painting was so real he wondered where he was heading. A rescue on the other side of the world, somewhere so far away that every second counted, every breath taken was one breath closer to disaster. Scott Tracy was racing against time, and there was no time to think about anything other than _now_.

"Do I like it?" Scott murmured. " _Do I like it_?"

"Do you?" repeated Virgil hesitantly, trying to gauge Scott's expression.

"Virgil... I love it! I... I don't know what to say, _I love it_!"

"Hooray!" whispered Gordon, who up until that moment had actually been holding his breath.

"I knew he'd like it!" said Penny. "How could he not? It's one of the most stunning paintings I have ever seen! Virgil, you are a true artistic genius!"

"Well, normally I'd politely disagree with you," said Virgil, grinning at his big brother's look of sheer wonder and amazement, "but this time I'm gonna happily accept the compliment. I mean, look at his face. Just look at it! Is that not a work of art in itself?"

Lady Penelope laughed, a sound that lifted into the air and hung there like a melodious symphony against the dramatic background of Virgil's painting.

"He is precious," she said, smiling at Scott as he half-turned away from the painting to cast a glance at her Ladyship and his two brothers. "But don't tell him I said that."

"We just wanted to make you feel better," Virgil explained, putting a gentle hand on Scott's right shoulder. "You were more worried about Gordon, Penny and Parker than they were. It seemed as though you weren't going to let go of your anger over Professor Harold, in fact it seemed as though you were starting to use that anger to punish yourself for other things as well. Dad's disappearance, our inability to defeat the Hood, even the way we were raised after mom died. You were turning inward, and it hurt us to watch you implode as much as it hurt you to think that Harold would have left them to die. You see, Scott- you aren't the only one with a big responsibility on your shoulders. We are _all_ responsible for each other." Virgil looked straight at Scott with unwavering, honey brown eyes. "If I hadn't arrived in the nick of time to pull you off that jerk, how do you think I would have felt if you'd hit him and broken his nose?"

"That wouldn't have been your problem," said Scott, tersely.

"But it _would_ , Scott. Don't you see? I would have felt just as guilty and angry for not stopping you as you felt for wanting to do it in the first place. I share your pain, Scott. We all do, but you have to _let_ us."

Scott shook his head vehemently. "I don't want you to feel what I feel. I don't want you to ever feel that bad. I'm the one who's supposed to look out for you, not the other way around!"

"Scott! We're not children any more. The rules are different now. You can't do it all, no matter how much you want to. It's going to end up killing you, and we are not going to stand by and watch that happen. You have to relinquish control sometimes, for your own good as well as ours."

Virgil turned to face the painting, turning Scott back around so he was facing it too.

" _That's_ who you are, Scott. And that's why I painted this and put it where it is, over that damn stupid hole you made. To remind you that you are better than that. Leave the past behind- there's too much going on in the present, and tomorrow is another day. If all you live for now is to fly that 'bird, then that seems like a pretty good trade off to me."

"Hear hear," murmured Lady Penelope. "I have never met anyone like you, Scott Tracy, and I don't think I ever will again. Oh, if only you could see yourself how we see you!"

Scott gave his full attention to the painting. This time he could feel the confines of the cockpit around him, the seat under him, he could hear the mighty roar of her engines, smell the fuel and hear the soft chitter of her flight instruments. He could feel her as if she were part of him, and he part of her. Thunderbird One was _his_ , in a way that she would never be anyone else's, no matter who learned to pilot her in his absence. But as much as she knew him, was part of him and belonged to him, there were others he needed more.

Flesh and blood others who wanted to catch _him_ once in a while, rather than the other way around.

"You know, I think I'm already beginning to," he smiled.


End file.
